


Floating on Pain

by shuckfaceparadise (isaacfignewton)



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Aftercare, Bloodplay, M/M, Painplay, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1232290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacfignewton/pseuds/shuckfaceparadise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minho was sitting on top of him, twirling the knife around his fingers. The light caught on the edge of it, shining into Thomas’s face and he whimpered. There was too much promise in that gleam, too much anticipation almost coming to a head. Minho grinned.</p><p>"You excited, babe?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floating on Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Um, this was originally posted on tumblr [here](http://shuckfaceparadise.tumblr.com/post/76895905121/minho-thomas-17-blood), but I've fixed it up a bit and it's long enough that I thought I'd like to have it posted on AO3. Read the tags and heed those warnings, don't be afraid of sending me a message on Tumblr if you want details before you read. And if I forgot to tag anything, definitely send me a message or comment on this. Thanks!

They had discussed this– extensively. Thomas knew that, remembered “Just being safe,” and going to the local LGBT youth center and getting blood tests, sighing with relief when neither had anything to worry about. He remembered going to the store with Minho and blushing when they asked the worker what knives worked best on skin. It had been the teenager, a kid that was maybe 16– three years younger than Thomas– and he had blushed just as much, immediately understanding why they wanted it. He had led them to a rack in the back, where there were short, thick knives with edges so thin it was like they didn’t exist. Minho had reached out to touch the edge of the display knife and the kid had warned him too late, after he’d already managed to nick himself and start bleeding all over the store.

Thomas knew all of this, remember all of it, and yet he still couldn’t believe this was happening. Minho was sitting on top of him, twirling the knife around his fingers. 

The light caught on the edge of it, shining into Thomas’s face and he whimpered. There was too much promise in that gleam, too much anticipation almost coming to a head. Minho grinned. 

"You excited, babe?" he asked, voice slipping into the harsher tone he used whenever they did scenes. It made Thomas think that maybe he really would get hurt, and he felt a shiver go through him before he reminded himself of the bowl of water and the cloth sitting on the floor beside the bed, just out of his sight. He smiled just a bit as he thought of the box of Spiderman band-aids sitting with it. Minho always had been a nerd.

His smile slipped away when Minho’s hand came to his face, gripping it almost too tightly, his skin feeling like it might rip. Minho’s eyes were hard, smile dangerous.

"I asked you a question, didn’t I? Answer me, Tommy," he said, voice still that harsh tone but slipping into something almost teasing. His hand slipped down from Thomas’s cheeks to his neck, squeezing tightly so that they could both feel Thomas’s pulse thrum against his grip. Thomas moaned.

"Excited," he got out, already breathing quickly and feeling his heart rate getting higher and higher. 

Then Minho was pushing his head back and up so that his throat was stretched long, and then Minho was kissing him, tongue forcing it’s way in between his lips and reaching down his throat, playing against the roof of his mouth and the backs of his teeth. Thomas couldn’t breath for a moment and he let out a strangled moan, head rushing and room starting to spin.

This was what he’d wanted, he reminded himself, feeling a thrill go through him. Pain. He’d wanted pain. He still wanted pain, he thought, a tremor running through his body. Oh, how he wanted it.

Almost as soon as the word was in his thoughts Minho was leaning off of him, setting the knife carefully on the bedside table then sitting back on Thomas’s thighs so he could run his hands up Thomas’s stomach, push his shirt up and off.

Minho immediately attached his mouth to Thomas’s collarbone, sucking hard and then biting, pulling more moans from him as the pain spread from the point. Minho was moving along his chest, kissing and sucking and biting in what was almost a pattern, marking the skin up almost methodically. 

Thomas felt himself dissolving into the feeling, fingers and toes and limbs becoming air and head filling with air and his body was twitching, every wave of pain making him arch into it and away from it at the same time, needing it yet being afraid.

He wasn’t ready when the first cut came. Minho’s tongue was dancing over one of the bites and then his fingers were rubbing into the bruises on his neck, when suddenly there was a hot pressure across his shoulder, everything slowing so he could  _feel_ his skin break under the knife. It felt like a suspended moment, lights flashing behind his closed eyes and fireworks coming from the wound. Then the moment dropped again, blood starting to drip out from the wound and he could feel that too, tickling as it ran into his armpit. 

He wasn’t ready for Minho’s mouth to attach to the wound several second later, tongue stinging as it pressed over the skin, an odd pressure as Minho sucked the blood into his mouth.

Thomas forced his eyes open, gasping. The room was spinning, ceiling above him fluctuating in distance. His body was only his bleeding shoulder. 

Minho came off with a pop, slinging himself back over so that their crotches brushed together. Thomas was hard, almost painfully so, and he could feel Minho’s returning hardness as it pressed against him. He bucked into it, then whimpered when he was pushed down.

"No, Tommy. You don’t move, got that, babe?" Minho said. His voice sounded angry and Thomas was babbling out apologies, hands scrabbling at the bed sheets beside him and neck stretched long, exposed. He didn’t stop apologies until Minho smoothed a hand over his neck, resting on his pulse. "Good boy," he murmured.

"Yours?" Thomas managed to get out, throat spasming under the word. Minho made a pleased noise.

"My good boy," he said, waiting until he heard Thomas huff in pleasure before he removed his hand and crawled down again. Thomas mourned the loss of the crotch pressed against his but then Minho brought the knife down.

This time, Thomas clenched his teeth as a long line was drawn from his ribs and across his hip bone, ending on the sensitive skin beside his happy trail. It was a shallow cut and it didn’t bleed as much, but it stung when Minho licked after it.

He was floating on the pain. That’s the way he would describe it later. Everything was fading into the background but the places he bled and the places Minho touched. And these places slowly increased in number as Minho went on, consumed by the activity. Later, he would describe to Thomas how it felt to mark him, to watch him bleed. He would explain that, in an odd way, it was calming, euphoric.

"Mine, mine, mine," he mumbled, digging another cut across Thomas’s chest and then running a tongue after it, hand rubbing over his shoulder. 

It wasn’t long before Thomas found himself bucking into the movements, forcing the thin edge of the knife deeper. Minho had stopped chastising him for the movement, seeming to welcome it, grinning down at him. The sheets around them were smeared with blood, and Minho looked almost devilish, mouth and teeth red with it. 

Then, after a particularly deep cut across Thomas’s chest, twisting around a nipple, Minho forced their faces together. He was kissing the air out of Thomas and he gasped, too far gone to care that he couldn’t breath. There was a moment where he wondered what the taste in his mouth was before he realized it was his own blood and then he was moaning again, body shaking with pleasure.

He registered that the knife had been placed aside only because Minho was now touching him with both hands and he realized they were both without pants and underwear when Minho took their cocks in hand, pumping them together with a hand covered in dried blood.

There was something else sticky, he knew that, knew that blood wasn’t this slick and that that was the odd fruity smell of their lube, but in the moment he imagined it was his blood, smoothing the way for Minho to rub them together, hand moving quickly.

It was an odd sort of limbo, both moving against each other and neither breathing much, room quiet except for when they spared pained gasps.

He came before Minho, gasping and hands again fumbling for a hold in the sheets as the feeling crashed over him. On the edge of his mind he felt Minho speed up and then begin to shake against him, collapsing when he was done.

But by then Thomas was floating, disconnected from his body. He heard Minho say his name, kissing against his skin and whispering “Good boy,” like a prayer, other praises slipping in every few moments.

It was like white noise, the murmuring, leading him back to his body. He felt Minho’s weight leave him and the cloth they had set beside the bed start to smooth over his skin. It was wet, he registered that, and slowly he felt his skin become less sticky. He made a small noise when it ran under his arm, ticklish, and there were hands smoothing over his shoulders, running up his neck and cupping his face. He opened his eyes at the hands insistence, thumbs rubbing urging circles on his temples. 

Minho’s face was above him and it’s mouth moved, seeking some sort of answer. The voice came through again, asking if he was okay and Thomas found himself smiling, nodding. A plastic water bottle came into his field of vision and he felt a hand behind his head now, tilting it up. There was a pause before he nodded, opening his mouth, and the water bottle was brought to his lips. He sucked hungrily, dimly hearing the water bottle make a cracking noise when he emptied it too far. When there was no water left he made a pained sound, more thirsty than he thought. But the hand was letting his head fall back down, another smoothing over his cheek in a way that said, “enough.” He saw Minho again and watched as he smiled, then moved out of sight again.

Coming back down and starting to hear again, Thomas recognized the papery ripping sound of band-aids being opened. Then Minho was back, smoothing the Spiderman-themed band-aids over his cuts. 

It was some times later when Thomas came all the way back down, and he found himself wrapped loosely in Minho’s arms, facing him in the bed. The other boy was wide-awake, eyes fixed on Thomas’s face and he gave a hesitant smile when he realized Thomas was alert. 

"Hey," he said, voice back to a calm tone, sweet, yet still without the sarcastic tone it would have when he was sure Thomas was okay.

"Hi," Thomas got out, mouth stumbling over the words. Making a sleepy sound, he went to burrow into Minho’s neck but instead found himself being held back. He frowned. "What?" he mumbled, hearing the grumpy tone in his voice but not caring.

"We gotta get your something to eat and drink, okay? You… kind of bled. A lot," Minho said, and then grinned. Thomas groaned as he recognized the sarcasm and sass returning. Nevertheless, he let Minho untangle them and hold him up and the left the bedroom, stumbling to the kitchen. Thomas started when he saw himself in the mirror, covered in bite-shaped bruises and… Spiderman’s face. He glanced at Minho, raising an eyebrow.

"You had to use this many band-aids?" he asked, gesturing to where what seemed like over half of him was covered, sometimes five of more band-aids in a row to cover the longer cuts. Minho made a helpless gesture, slowly leading Thomas to sit down at their dining table. 

Thomas’s head rushed and he almost missed the answer. “Well, no. But it looked cute,” he said, and that was definitely the sass returning. 

Minho went off to rummage around their refrigerator, and he came back several minutes later with juice boxes and sandwiches and a chocolate bar for both of them. He went right into his, and Thomas hesitantly picked his up. Minho noticed his hesitation, and swallowed the big bite he had just taken so that he could speak.

"Hey. There’s lots of meat on that sandwich and you better eat it. The one page said restoring your iron was important," he said. Thomas rolled his eyes and started eating.

It was several minutes later, after sitting in a comfortable silence, that Minho asked the question they had both felt under the surface.

"So… did you like it?"

Thomas frowned at the chocolate he had started on, then reached up and brushed a hand over the band-aid on his shoulder. The pain was sharp, but still pleasant. 

There, in the cold of a tiny New York apartment, sitting naked and covered in wounds, and across from an equally naked boy, he felt happier than he could remember being in a long time.  

So he grinned, took another bite of chocolate, and said, “Didn’t you?”

**Author's Note:**

> And yeah. That happened.
> 
> As always, I'm [shuckfaceparadise](http://shuckfaceparadise.tumblr.com) on tumblr. I make graphics and write stuff and it's pretty cool.


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